


Against the Walls

by killym



Series: Against the Walls, Against Your Rules, Against Your Skin [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Coping, Depression, Future Fic, La Vie Boheme, M/M, San Francisco, Scott is a photographer, Stiles and Lydia are being lawyers together, also Derek/Stiles is really just hinted, well not yet but in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1453960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killym/pseuds/killym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Scott hang the camera over his neck and sat on the floor with his legs crossed and knees tucked under his chin. He sighed loudly, reconsidering speaking up one last time, before he asked “What do you do when your life stops making sense and nothing matters anymore?”</em><br/><em>He looked up just to find her staring down at him, her eyes full of pity. He could tell it was pity because she sank down next to him, mirroring his pose before speaking softly.</em><br/><em>“You just find something that matters and it helps you make sense of it all over again.”</em><br/> </p><p>A story about hopes and risks and how it all gets better. Because it has to get better, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against the Walls

Scott lost his way somewhere between graduating from college and the exact spot where he’s found himself today. He didn’t really know what he was doing anymore. He lived a great life, in a great city, with a great paycheck of a respectable photographer. But his pictures were empty, emotionless and cold and it turned out that the thing he had used to love so much was nothing more than a chore by now, a thing he did just to pay the rent.

He looked at his expensive hi-tech equipment, sitting on a passenger seat of his equally expensive eco-friendly Prius and he felt almost scared looking at the camera, even more afraid to turn the damn thing on because he knew there was going to be nothing on it for him to be proud of, and not even one picture he would take today was going to be good. It wouldn't be worth shit.

Scott sighed and turned the engine off. He grabbed the camera and checked his hair in the rearview mirror for the last time before going out of the car. Coming to Stiles’ party was the last thing he wanted to do this evening; sulking in his bed, with a glass of wine and some sad music, weeping silently into the pillow over his miserable life and no perspective for a better future was always a preferred way to spend a night.

“Wow, Scott. You’re pathetic,” he said to himself, snorting. Stiles was his best friend since forever. He, unlike Scott, had been doing pretty good recently, getting his degree some time ago and working his ass off for some ungrateful company and now, finally taking his life in his own hands, he decided to start his own kingdom. Stiles and Lydia’s law firm was going to be the most powerful company out there, establishing trends and sassing out the competition in no time. Everyone was sure of it and they decided to celebrate in advance.

Scott was standing in front of the door,  his hand raised to knock for several minutes already. He was still considering turning back and calling in later to apologize but the choice was made for him, when Lydia swept the door open and appeared right before his eyes.

“You’re gonna stand here all night?” she shouted, trying to out-scream the dubstep pouring out of the house. “Stop pouting and come on in, we need you to start taking pictures because believe me, some of these people won’t remember a damn thing from this night.” She grabbed his hand before he even got a chance to say hello, and he grabbed his camera bag, pressing it harder to his hip for protection. He was about to enter the devil’s den, full of people he didn’t know, music he didn’t like and alcohol he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. He might hate his life these days but he wasn’t risking losing his only source of income.

Not this way.

There was a mass of people inside, and he’s just been given a fancy pink and green drink he didn’t ask for. There was someone tugging on his blazer and he was just about to turn around and yell at them when he saw Allison, sitting at the bar stool, talking to some buff guy and giggling like a highschooler, swirling her hair around her finger.

“Stiles didn’t tell me Allison would be here,” he said, hissing right into Lydia’s ear.

“That’s probably because you wouldn’t come.”

And yeah, he so totally wouldn’t. After all Allison was a walking reminder of his failures They were high school sweethearts, stupid and in love, naively thinking that this feeling would last forever. They left their hometown and moved to San Francisco to go to college, they rented a flat together, and then, a couple of years later, she broke things off after a massive fight. She wanted to have kids, he didn’t think they should since he wanted to pursuit in his career. It was a hell of a messy break-up, many tears and things that shouldn’t be said. They didn’t talk to each other ever since.

Allison spotted him, her sweet smile freezing on her lips. She pointedly flipped her hair and turned her gaze away. It was a clear sign for him - kitchen was off the limits as long as she was inside.

Scott pulled his camera out to take a picture. Allison’s hair, beautifully braided as ever, was covering her face. Her delicate hand was tracing a guy’s bicep. She looked beautiful. She was beautiful, really, the prettiest girl he ever knew.

Cropping, though. Oh, god, it was like he never took any of those photography composition courses. He chugged his drink dry in one take and decided he needed another one. Or several.

“Scott? Scotty, dude, you came! I’m so glad you’re here.” Stiles’ wild hands wrapped around Scott’s chest, crushing the air out of his lungs. “Dude, I want you to meet someone.”

“Oh, really?” Scott turned around and hugged his friend back “I think meeting Allison is enough for me today.”

“Oh, man. I’m so sorry. Lydia insisted.”

“Yeah, no. I get it.”

Stiles grabbed his hand exactly like Lydia did just a couple of minutes earlier and Scott felt he was getting tired of people just dragging him around. They went outside to the backyard pool where the real party was taking place and if Scott thought that there was a lot of people in the house, then he seriously needed to reconsider his definition of crowds.

People were literally everywhere. Swimming in the pool, sitting with their feet in the water and just standing around, holding their drinks and talking, laughing, kissing. Scott took some pictures, hoping that subtle lightning of torches burning along the fence would warm up the shots.

He was wrong.

Stiles tugged his sleeve just when he was about to clear out the memory card. He looked up. There was a tall, handsome dark-haired man standing next to Stiles, nursing a glass of water with lime in his hand. He wasn’t smiling or anything, just standing there, looking at him, waiting to be introduced. Apparently Scott wasn’t the only one not in the mood for parties today.

“Derek, this is my best friend, Scott. Scott, meet Derek Hale,” Stiles said, pointing at the man. Derek held out his hand and Scott shook it with faked enthusiasm. “He’s our investor.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hale.”

“It’s Derek,” the man said.

“O-kay then.” Scott frowned. A weird silence that came after the introduction apparently didn’t bother Stiles so much like it did Scott because his friend was smiling like a madman, all jumpy and excited like only he could when he got one of his, not always brilliant, ideas.

“Dude, take a picture of us,” he said suddenly, poking Scott in the ribs. He caught Derek’s waist and posed for the picture which Scott obediently took.

*

“God, Stiles, your gay is showing,” Scott said a couple of minutes later when he was browsing the pictures on a small screen of his camera, leaning on the countertop in the second kitchen while his friend was mixing them something to drink. It was actually a bit quieter here than in the rest of the house, a big glass doors efficiently shutting out the music. There was also a lot less people, just a couple of them smoking by the window. Apparently cigarettes were going out of fashion and it was clear those people knew that too, seeing as they were sitting there in silence with a sense of guilt written all over their faces.

“Oh man, is it that obvious?” Stiles whined, throwing some lemon into full glasses. He stirred the drinks, tasted one of them and grimaced, reaching for the bottle of vodka.

“You’re groping him like a lovesick puppy. Not that he noticed, being all grumpy and shit.”

„He’s actually a pretty funny guy if you get to know him better.”

“Yeah sure, whatever you say.” Scott broke away from the screen to take and taste the drink. It was sour and bitter, with too much alcohol. Just like his life. “I need to pee,” he said, taking a couple of shots of people with cigarettes. “Where’s the toilet?”

“You go up and then the first door on your right.”

Scott nodded and left the kitchen, stepping right into a wild reenactment of some less hardcore Harlem Shake video. Electronic music was pounding in his ears, beating out the rhythm inside his internal organs. With a visible fear in his eyes, he rushed up the stairs, hoping to make it to the bathroom before someone gets the idea to ask him to record the whole thing.

He found the door he was looking for. Trying to maneuver between people imperceptibly, he finally grabbed the doorknob and locked himself in with a sigh of relief. There was really nothing more irritating than over-hyped Internet meme.

He put the camera away and turned the water on, looking in the mirror. He was having a hard time recognizing this person looking back at him lately. He knew this messy black hair that wouldn’t look nice even if he tried to tame them for hours. And he knew this annoyingly uneven jaw that he was so self-conscious about. But those person’s skin was loose, eyes looked empty and hollow, haunted. He couldn’t remember when was the last time those lips smiled or the last time he was looking at himself for so long. It was scary how his lifeless face reflected exactly how he felt these days.

A brief temptation to punch the mirror went through his mind but went away as quickly. He couldn’t help but chuckle at his overdramatic thoughts. It was getting to the point where he was starting to hate this new person standing right there, not only for ruining his life and undermining all of his plans and dreams, but mostly for making his every thought a melodramatic bullshit.

A loud knock snapped him back to reality.

“It’s occupied!” he shouted over the running water, wetting his hands just to make a different sound. It sobered him up a bit when he splashed his face.

“Dude, are you okay? It’s getting a bit crowded out here” Stiles shouted back, sounding really concerned.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said. “I’m good” he repeated quietly, glancing into the mirror for the last time.

Scott sighed loudly and looked around, trying to clear out his head and maybe finally take a leak. _Was it a bathroom or the museum, though?,_ he started to wonder, looking closely at the Victorian-like paintings on the wall and Venus de Milo reproduction standing in the corner.

Shaking his head, he unzipped his pants, previously hanging a towel over Venus’ head. He didn’t like being watched while peeing, even if just by the statue. Especially since it was taking so long after he was drinking. He had a serious problem with handling the alcohol; three drinks and he could be peeing for hours. Ridiculous.

Someone tugged on a doorknob, opening the door.

“Stiles, I told you I’m fine,” Scott said without even turning his head. “Just give me a second, jeez—”

The door closed. Scott sighed again, relieved.

And then he frowned.

He locked the door, how did they even—

“It’s a nice piece of equipment you have there.” Scott heard from behind him and, seriously, if his urine was actually highly flammable, the curtains would be burning right now.

“Jesus Christ!” He jumped up a few feet and turned around, instantly trying to cover up his junk. A blonde girl was sitting on a counter, playing with his camera. She jumped off, immediately turning to the mirror and started taking duckface selfies. “Wh—What are you doing here?” Scott asked, finally managing to zip himself up.

The blonde wasn’t really abashed in the slightest by the situation she created. She posed for yet another picture and seconds later the flash reflected in the mirror. Scott was actually pretty impressed that she managed to hold the camera with one hand, the other one busy ruffling her blonde locks. „Is this thing connected to internet? Can I post them on facebook?”

“Of course it’s not, it’s a camera, um— Could you maybe leave? I was kind of in the middle of...” he pointed at the toilet but the girl wasn’t even looking at him, browsing the pictures she just took.

“Oh god, please tell me my hair doesn’t look half as bad as on those.”

Scott squinted. She was impossible. “Who are you, anyway?”

The girl finally looked up, a wide smile spreading on her face like she just realized something. He felt relieved, expecting some answers, but then she actually opened her mouth. “Here, take my picture,” she said and he lost the last bit of hope to get her out of the toilet. “I bet it’s just bad light, there’s no way my hair looks like this,” she said and handed him his camera.

He took it obediently. “If I take your picture, will you leave then?” He tried.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

She was really pretty actually. If you didn’t expect her to do what you asked that is, then she was just plain annoying. Her hair was… big, curled, definitely not natural. Her make-up was also everything but subtle, just one glance at her smokey eyes and crimson red lips was enough to get that she knew what she was selling and to guess that she wouldn’t take anyone’s bullshit. Also, her teeth looked a bit too much like fangs for his taste, making him feel uncomfortable ever since she bared them for the first time.

Scott nodded, agreeing to take the pic and the girl’s smile widened even more. Wow, that was too much for him. He started to browse camera’s menu nervously, intending to switch some settings to get the best of the shot and to avoid looking at her face.

It was unbearable, looking at it, and it wasn’t really because of her teeth, as he tried very hard to tell himself. Just the smiling itself, the very thing he hadn’t been able to understand anymore.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he finally said. The girl raised her brow. “Just… do something. Make it look natural.”

“Honey, I haven’t been natural since I turned thirteen.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said and waved at her general direction.

She grabbed her boobs, outraged. “These are hundred percent mine, I beg your pardon.”

He took a picture right then, without as much as a warning. Surprise shots were always the best ones and, to be honest, he just wanted to get it done. But this one had to be the shittiest surprise shot ever. Well, he shouldn’t be _surprised_ by that.

He snorted with disbelief looking at a blurred pic he just took, the girl’s shocked face and her hands on her chest weren’t helping him maintaining a stoic face.

“What? Wait, did you take it already? Oh come on, that’s not fair.”

“Surprise ones are the best ones” he explained.

“Clearly not this one if you’re cracking up just looking at it.”

“Not this one for sure.”

He turned the display off and brought the camera closer to his face. “Look in the mirror,” he said. “Touch up your make-up.”

“Is there something wrong with my make-up?”

“Jesus, no, just… Pretend.”

She turned away from him obediently and he started taking pictures right away. Leaning over the sink and close to the mirror’s surface, she checked her eyes. She smudged her lower eyelid with her finger, catching a bit of stray mascara, then popped her lips and reached to her pocket for her crimson red lipstick. This is gonna be a good one, Scott thought when he pushed the button one more time and she brushed her lips with color.

It wasn’t.

“One more,” he said. “These are all horrible.”

“Let me see!” She reached out to grab the camera but he pulled it away from her.

“No. We won’t leave until I make you the most beautiful picture you’ve ever had. Go over there and look fabulous.”

She sat at the edge of the bathtub. “I hope this house has two bathrooms because it could take a while.”

“What, taking the best picture you’ve ever had?” He raised his brows.

“Yeah. Most of my pictures are amazing. Because I’m beautiful.”

Scott chuckled, flash lamp going off once again. “You are awfully full of yourself.” He glanced at her over the camera as she pursed her lips.

“Well, I don’t have a single reason not to be full of myself, so why deny that I’m beautiful and awesome when I really am and I know that I am.” She shrugged. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

He looked at her, his brows high in question and doubt. His stomach clenched with some strange mixture of jealousy and bitterness when he shook his head. “I wish it was so simple.”

“But it is.”

She clearly didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand, how could she. She really was beautiful, clearly happy, so it’s not like she could relate to what he was feeling.

On the other hand, it was clear that they were different. Not in an obvious way, it wasn’t about physicality or any of that _we are clearly from another worlds_ crap. But Scott couldn’t deny it, having difficulties to stop thinking about all of those ‘what ifs’ going through his head.

Because they _were_ different and it meant that if there wasn’t anything wrong with her, maybe it was him who was downright screwed up?

Scott hang the camera over his neck and sat on the floor with his legs crossed and knees tucked under his chin. He sighed loudly, reconsidering speaking up one last time, before he asked “What do you do when your life stops making sense and nothing matters anymore?”

He looked up just to find her staring down at him, her eyes full of pity. He could tell it was pity because she sank down next to him, mirroring his pose before speaking softly.

“You just find something that matters and it helps you make sense of it all over again.”

The door burst open then, causing both of them to jump scared. Allison fell into the bathroom, embracing the guy Scott had seen her with in the kitchen. They were kissing, laughing when she tripped over his feet. The guy looked up, his eyes met Scott’s. He froze smiling, a quiet ‘oops’ escaping his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Allison asked still laughing, turning around. “Oh,” she said and her gaze dropped to the girl’s hand laying on Scott’s thigh. “Scott.” She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Allison.”

After a couple of second of undeniably awkward silence she grabbed man’s arm and shoved him out of the bathroom.

“Is she the reason you’re so miserable human being?” Scott heard the girl whisper right into his ear. He only now noticed her hand on his leg. He got up hurriedly.

“I need to go.” This was getting ridiculous and he could feel rage building up inside him. He couldn’t really tell why he was so upset, but this girl was suddenly the most stupid and irritating person he has ever met and he couldn’t stand her fucked-up, useless advices anymore.

“After her?” she asked and got up as well. “I can help you make her jealous.”

Scott shook his head with a sour grimace twisting his face. “That’s not it.”

“Well then,” she started, her head high and proud. “I guess it’s my cue to leave.”

Only after she disappeared behind the other door he realized he didn’t even ask for her name.

*

The house was still thumping with shitty tunes, Nicki Minaj’s newest single was crackling the walls and he could feel his brain cells slowly dying one by one. But the corridor felt strangely empty, somehow much more quiet than  several minutes ago, the loud, drunk conversations disappearing along with people who probably went looking for some less obvious places to relief themselves. Scott cringed a bit on the thought of people jumping into the pool now, his pessimistic imagination making him think the worst things.

He needed to find Stiles, tell him that he’s going home, because after considering all pros and cons, after the strangest talk he's ever had with a total stranger, going home still seemed like the best idea right now. Sure, free alcohol was tempting, all those full bottles standing in the fridge, just waiting to be opened. Later there would come all the complaining and confessions, making a fool of himself, crying and dumping all of his sorrows on some poor bastard who'd just happen to be sitting near enough. Then, the next day, a blissful oblivion, all the embarrassment gone and forgotten, all of this night’s mistakes he couldn’t recall redeemed  with a monstrous headache.

On the other hand, he really didn’t want to ruin his friend’s big day with his miserable whining. People tend to remember only the nastiest happenings, all those small mistakes caught on camera, spread all over the internet, stuck in there somewhere forever. Prickling you in the back like the nastiest thorns someone has put exactly between your shoulder blades, out of your reach and impossible to remove; manifesting itself every time you need it the least and, Scott knew it from experience, a drunk and miserable person making a scene is nowhere near good press for a newbie company trying to make its first steps into the business world. Scott’s problems shouldn’t be a burden on Stiles’ busy shoulders, he surely had enough of that with Lydia already.

With his mind made up he headed down the stairs. He didn’t think there would be something that’d make him stay, but he was already mentally preparing his evading monologue. That’s why at first he didn’t notice a sudden change in music; juicy bass didn’t get a chance to drop before a little hiccup, someone changing quality of a youtube clip. Then the music sort of sucked itself in, giving rise to a repetitive vocal.

 _And everything’s going to the beat. And everything’s going to the beat. And everything_ —

An unusual change in tone finally made him stop. A strange, high-pitched wailing pierced through his mind. He was trying to catch the lyrics but they were clearly not in English, and then the actual music started, a rhythmic, electronic sounds, so different from all the other songs he’d been hearing here all night. It was weird, kinda irritating, but not unpleasant so he just stood there, in the middle of the stairs, listening to the strange song.

He looked around, hardly believing that this sort of music was left to play for so long when he noticed that there was really only one person dancing. The scene got even more peculiar when Scott realized that the only reason the song was still playing was a big, dark-skinned and angry looking guy with funny ears and features too big for his face, guarding the laptop. He's been glancing with fury at any person who dared to lean to the keyboard but, as Scott noticed with surprise, his face was able to change diametrically in just a matter of seconds when he happened to look at the dancer.

With a full, amused grin spreading on his lips he didn't look half as scary. _What was so special about this other man?_ Scott wondered. Did they know each other at all? They had to, given the way they smiled at each other, smiles that’s been brightening their whole faces at once. Were they lovers? Or maybe just really good friends? Scott reached for his camera, hoping he'd be able to catch the bond so visible to his eyes. Just as he turned the lens towards the floor, the dancer held out his hand to a petite, blond girl standing next to the wall with a few of her girlfriends. Then she looked at him clearly amused and shook her head, laughing openly. The dancer didn't seem bothered in the slightest and Scott smiled, capturing as the man pounced away shrugging, and he kept taking photos, one after another, mesmerized by the guy. His eyes were closed, his moves slender and confident like he couldn't care less about all those people around him just standing under the walls, all of them just like this girl he asked to dance, whispering and laughing at him. In between those people, all with sticks up their asses, he was like a breath of fresh air, like a personification of easiness. Even his curly hair seemed like it didn't give a fuck, flying all over his face, veiling his careless smile and covering his insanely blue eyes over and over again.

Scott wasn't aware that those blue eyes were glancing at him curiously for quite some time now. He didn't even notice a blatant staring right into the lens of his camera, busy being overwhelmed with how it all came to him again because, for the first time in a long time, Scott remembered why he used to love it all those years ago.

“And there I was, wondering all this time why didn't you come at me even once.” He heard a feminine voice close to his ear. “I guess I have my answer.” The sound was so unexpected that Scott jumped, losing his balance. He closed his eyes with a short scream, losing a grip on his camera. _This is it_ , he thought right after intense litany of curses, _this is the final sign that I should stop lying to myself_. He waited to hear the sound of shattering lens falling out of his shaking hands and hitting the floor, as he decided on his end.

But it never came.

“You better be careful with that thing, it looks pretty valuable.”

He cracked his squeezed eyelids, horrified. His camera was hanging in one piece right in front of his face but it wasn’t why Scott  suddenly felt like his legs were stuck to the floor when all he wanted to do was to run away. He gaped at those insane eyes and blonde curls, admiring man's geometrically beautiful jawline and sharp cheekbones and a bit awry smile and...

He realized he was staring when the girl behind him laughed out loud, patting him on the shoulder.

“I… I need to go,” said Scott, tearing a camera out of man’s hand and fleeing the stairs, led off with a heavy chuckling and a feeling of complete humiliation. Like there wasn’t enough of that in his life already.

He ran in the first door he found, sighing with relief. Finding himself in the kitchen, he quickly reached for the closest bottle, chugging almost half of it at once. Fortunately enough it was just white wine. Leaning on the countertop, he looked around. Stiles wasn’t where he left him but the window was still occupied by a couple of guilty smokers, glancing at him curiously. One of the girls smiled at him, inviting.

“Have you guys seen Stiles, by any chance?” he said, bouncing off the countertop and making a few steps towards them.

It wasn’t the best decision. His legs felt wobbly and he faltered around a bit before he found his balance and the world spun a little, making it clear that he was well on the way to the hangover tomorrow morning. He saluted to that and took another sip.

“I can’t say we had the pleasure” one of the smokers said, reaching out a pack of cigarettes. Scott shrugged, setting his camera on some girl’s lap to take one.

While someone else’s hand helpfully stretched with a lighter, his camera was momentarily grabbed and turned on, his privacy was lost in prying hands of the smoking covey. As was his need to keep his privacy private, gone and forgotten more and more with every drunk second, with every drag of a cigarette. It only made the alcohol cloud his mind faster, dim his senses harder, leading to the wonderful, anticipated ethanol-induced peace of mind. “Well, shit.”

He wanted to go then but a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him on the empty chair. Scott choked on the smoke and started coughing, nearly burning himself with a cigarette bum.

“You’re a photographer” one of the people said more than asked.

“Why yes I am” Scott replied when he finally managed to calm himself. “Well, I was, anyway. Now I don’t really know. Gimme that” he frowned and reached for the camera but it got snapped away, taken by yet another pair of curious eyes.

A very specific, blue eyes.

Scott froze, watching man’s slender fingers sweeping over the touchscreen as he studied the pictures with an honest interest. He was completely focused now, his straight brows close together, his eyes darting, like they were trying to spot something… something that wasn’t there and Scott knew it. He knew that the man was just wasting his time.

“Just give it back already, I know they’re shit.”

“They’re actually amazing.”

“Fuck you.”

The man smiled, huffing out a laugh. He looked at Scott from over the screen and Scott felt chills down his spine. “That’s in no way a proper way to thank for a compliment. Well, not so early in a relationship anyway,” he said and, to Scott's utter terror, sat on the windowsill right beside him.

Scott hadn’t noticed up until now that they were alone in the kitchen, the last of the guilty smokers leaving long ago enough for the smell to almost vanish. It was just him, his thoughts and this strange person whose knees were once in a while bumping into Scott’s arm, who Scott couldn’t make to disappear no matter how hard he wanted him to be gone.

But that was also the point. Did he really want that?

“I like this one the most” the man said, showing Scott – oh god, oh god – one of the dancefloor photos. It was one of those that Scott took almost unconsciously, those that he took in the moment. Those that Scott could look at and _like_ what he sees.

The picture was blurry enough to say it was failed but it was actually just a merit of a slow shutter. The background was dim, with an exception of several bright, colorful spotlights stretched out in the picture like a rainbow-hued garland and veiling a figure of a person caught in half-motion, turning his head around like he was suddenly called out, not yet aware that the photo was being taken, a natural half-smile spreading on his face and fully reaching his eyes.

“Because it’s you?” Scott asked. How selfish of him, liking his own picture. Who does that?

“Well, if it was just because it’s mine, I would’ve had a hard time picking my favorites, there’s plenty of me in here, isn’t there…” the man said and Scott could feel his cheeks turning bright red.

He had to notice Scott’s abashment because he just slid off the windowsill onto a chair below and, without waiting for Scott to answer, he continued. “Just look at it though, it’s amazing.”

“No, it’s not” Scott snorted.

The man sighed. “You’re like this stubborn kid who’s trying to convince his grandpa that mommy was mean just to get some candy out of it,” he said and reached for the half-empty bottle that Scott was holding. Pulling it out of his hands, he replaced it with the camera. “Just look. If it wasn’t  yours, if you didn’t take it, what would you say about it? I’ve heard you’re a photographer, so just give me a professional opinion. Tell me what you see.”

And Scott looked.

Someone once wrote that art isn't supposed to look nice. It is supposed to make you feel something. It was, by far, the best description of this strange individual sitting right beside Scott. He was perfect in his imperfection, his eyes too blue to be easy to look into, his jaw too square to make him look handsome at first sight and his smile askew, unintentionally mischievous even.

He had flaws, obviously, he didn’t seem to care though, instead he acted like he was the happiest, the most easy-going person Scott’s ever seen. And maybe that’s what scared Scott the most because how come he’s not unhappy and miserable, why isn’t he wretched and lost in this scary world, like most of the people are… Like Scott is.

He wondered how many of those thoughts he actually said out loud. He knew he started talking at some point because now a spark of amusement visible in man’s eyes not more than a few minutes ago was lost, replaced with the exact same look a blonde from the toilet had; he was pitying him and he couldn’t even hide it anymore.

"I really wish you could look at yourself as you look at other people" the man said finally.

And Scott couldn't help it anymore.

It was so sudden that Scott didn't realize he made the move until he pulled away and even then, with his lips burning as a living proof, he had a hard time believing he dared to do it. The kiss he placed on man's lips, even though so brief and incredibly hasty, was oozing with misery, as an act of desperate need to feel something. Anything, really.

It was so long for Scott - he didn't have anyone since Allison - that he didn't really think he'd missed it, that he would enjoy the warmth of other body against his.

It was a stupid thing to do and he regretted it the moment he realized he did it, but it was already too late to take it back and it was also impossible to forget or just ignore. Because this spark he felt, it was like he was alive again for just a fraction of a second when their lips touched and his heart skipped a beat.

He was also not drunk enough to not to worry.

Scott brushed his lips with his fingertips, like he was afraid that any stronger touch would erase the memory of what he did. Of what he felt. Words of apology were already forming in his head; _I have no idea why I did it, I don't know what got into me_ ; but he was still too afraid to look up. He finally settled for a simple _I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that_ but before he could even speak a warm hand cupped his cheek and man’s breath warmed his mouth.

Something fluttered in his stomach when he felt those already familiar lips on his. His mind went blank when a hot tongue pressed firmly against his mouth and then rushed inside.

And Scott let that happen without a second thought.

He could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears along with the man’s heavy breathing and he could smell him, a mixture of aftershave and sweat and a little bit of something that Scott couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The man’s cold fingers ventured on his neck, making Scott even more aware of the situation. He shivered at the touch and mirrored the gesture, letting his fingertips to finally trace this face Scott had such a hard time to comprehend and to tangle into this hair, finally grabbing it with a desperation he didn’t know he was capable of showing. Feeling blood rushing through his veins and clouding his senses, he lost the last bit of fear he nurtured somewhere in the back of his mind and gave in completely, deepening the kiss with a quiet moan.

He felt himself _smiling_ as the man pulled back, Scott’s hand still clenched in man’s hair, his lips still parted as they watched each other carefully, like both of them weren’t quite sure what happens next.

“Let’s get out of here” Scott heard right next to his ear and it was so not like him because he couldn’t agree more, already fishing out his car keys out of his pocket. “No, leave them” the man said, taking the keys out of Scott’s hand as he got up, dragging Scott with him. “Let’s just walk.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom lacks a proper, long McLahey fanfiction. I decided to fix that problem.
> 
> This is a prologue for a greater fic, but since it turned out to be a pretty decent stand-alone story, I decided to post it earlier. I hope you like it, and if you do, make sure to check for updates once in a while. I'm an extremely slow writer but I promise, I will finish this one.
> 
> The song from the title, as well as from the ~stairs scene~ is Sleepyhead by Passion Pit and it's the weirdest/greatest song ever recorded and I swear to you, this whole idea started with me and my friend just imagining bohemian Isaac dancing to this song and giving no fucks.


End file.
